All Those Lifetimes
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Bumping shoulders with someone at the local park didn't usually change your life, but when you bumped into Arthur Pendragon, of all people... Well, finding out your king has returned is bound to change a few things.
1. Chapter 1

**I decided I wanted to give myself a bit of a challenge, and since this project started out as nothing more than a drabble... Well, long story short: No chapter is going to be more than five hundred words long. I'm going to try to keep it more to the two or three hundred range, actually, but I'm not the best at keeping things short, so I wanted to give myself some wiggle room. **

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Not even Merlin.

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_All Those Lifetimes_

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Merlin didn't wander around London in his true form very often, but when he did it put him in the best sort of mood. Nothing creaked or popped or ached, he could stroll jauntily, grinning, humming, whistling annoying tunes from his boyhood that only stung if he thought of how the noise had often annoyed Arthur.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon and, being a young enough lad, he let his jacket fly open, the breeze barely grazing his skin, though it bit at the tips of his ears and nose, and he ducked quickly behind his scarf to avoid the worst of it.

He didn't have any plan for the day, he rarely did, and the park he was walking through was fairly empty, so perhaps he would just—

His shoulder bumped against someone, then, the force more shocking than painful. At the impact, he felt the most curious sort of feeling: his magic surging against him, wanting to rebel in a way it hadn't wanted in over 1500 years now.

The man who'd bumped into him—or perhaps it'd been the other way around, he hadn't been paying much attention—turned, his blond hair catching the sun in a familiarly breath-taking sort of way, blue eyes softening from inconvenience and anger into recognition and relief almost instantly, his indignant cry of, "Oy, watch where you're going, mate," falling into a whispered plea of, "_Merlin?_"

Merlin shook his head in disbelief, tears forming as the distance between them was closed and Arthur's arms were around him, just as strong and warm as they had been all those lifetimes ago.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Merlin had never known what to expect of Arthur's return. He had always assumed great magic would be involved, that he would rise from Avalon dramatically, seek Merlin out, and demand answers of some sort. At the very least, Merlin would _know_ he had returned long before he found him—somehow, he was supposed to have just _known_.

But he wasn't going to complain about not knowing, not now, not when Arthur was in his arms, not when he was rocking him back and worth, whispering their old tales in his ears, begging Merlin—begging himself, really—to confirm that this was all _real, _that it had all _happened_, that he _wasn't_ mad.

After some long moments, Arthur finally pulled back, his eyes shining with wept tears in a way that the old Arthur would never let show in public. With a sort of pang, Merlin wondered if this was really _his_ Arthur before he shook his head, cuffed Merlin on the back of the head gently, his hand freezing to cup and caress the nape of his neck, playing at the hair there. And oh God, that _smile_—how Merlin had missed it!

There was a blissful sort of fluttering in his stomach, however, as realization set in with Arthur's next words, slurred with happiness and a thickness that Merlin recognized as a sort of over-whelming feeling that he swallowed with the lump in his throat. "You clotpole."

"That's my word." Merlin said automatically, a sob escaping the folds of his lips as he tugged Arthur close again and reveled in his touch, his scent, his very _being_ that Merlin's magic said very much belonged to the Arthur he had always known.

And in that moment, Merlin knew that this was _his_ Arthur. This would _always_ be _his_ Arthur.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Arthur wouldn't let Merlin leave his side. He wouldn't accept any sort of half-hearted excuse or reasoning that Merlin didn't like offering up anyway—he didn't want to leave Arthur any more than Arthur wanted him to _go_. But, Merlin was sure Arthur already had a life here, a life full of people who needed him more than Merlin did.

"That's rubbish, Merlin!" Arthur berated, grabbing the sleeve of his arm to tug him in the direction he'd been going. "No one needs me more than you do—how do you think you're going to survive without me?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Of course, here he had a whole new life and he was still the arrogant prat Merlin had once fallen for. How perfect.

"I've survived 1500 years without you so far—you don't think I could manage another 1500?"

"I don't doubt you could, but," Arthur paused, looked over at him with a sad sort of smile on his face. "I don't want you to, Merlin. You said you would serve me until the day you die… You can't serve me if you're not _at_ my side."

Merlin teared up again, Arthur's words so touching to him. "Oh so you still expect me to serve you? Haven't been together all of five minutes and already you're expecting me to go back to doing your chores for you, is that it?" he teased around the thick feeling in his throat.

"Of course, _Mer_lin," the inflection of his name right as rain in Arthur's mouth. "You _are_ my manservant, after all."

Merlin chuckled, rolled his eyes once more, but allowed Arthur to lead him off nonetheless. If Arthur would have him, then he supposed he wasn't going to fight him on this. He would very well serve his king until the day he died. And since that didn't seem to be a sort of reality he would achieve any time soon…

Well, he had always been prepared to serve his king across as many lifetimes as he would have him.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Arthur _did_ have a life here, as Merlin had suspected. A life with a house and a job and friends and family and memories that Merlin would never share, stories he would never quite _know_. When Arthur pushed him into his house, told him to make himself at home, he wandered around, soaking up every little detail of Arthur that there was in his home.

Everything reminded him, of course, of the Arthur he had always known—brave and noble and courageous and honorable and maybe a bit stupid sometimes but strong and _right_ and the sort of person fit to lead any country to greatness.

Merlin was proud of him, of this Arthur he knew but didn't know all at once, and he was over-come, suddenly, with the urge to break down crying.

So he did.

Without really meaning to, he sunk down to his knees in Arthur's living room and wept.

He wept for the life they had once built together, he wept for all the people who were no more, for all the years he spent so alone and tired waiting for Arthur to come back. He wept because Arthur was _back_, and that couldn't mean much for the world, but for him it was everything and oh god, it had been _so long_. He had missed Arthur _so much_—he didn't _understand_. All those memories and stories, every great deed they had done together had all been for _nothing_, lost to the sands of time and twisted by the tongues of men not as noble as he. Everything they had accomplished in their lifetime together had been for naught, but Merlin didn't care anymore, all he cared about was _this_ lifetime and having Arthur back.

As a testament to the man Merlin had once known him to be, Arthur sank down next to him, held him while he wept, his own eyes coated over with tears while he stroked Merlin's hair for what felt like ages. And it was nice, to just have someone again, just to be held and wanted and known and liked and loved. It was nice to have someone again, that was all.

Arthur eventually coaxed him into eating a warm meal and a cup of tea, taking a shower, and then he set him lose with the small collection of books he had and told him he could have the spare bedroom indefinitely if he wanted it. And of course Merlin _wanted_ it. Arthur promised to take Merlin out shopping for some proper clothes the next day—his treat. He couldn't be seen, after all, with old man Emrys/Dragoon The Great. No, Merlin was expected to just be _Merlin_ again, and he rather liked it that way—and sent him off to bed.

Merlin didn't get any sort of sleep that night, however, too afraid that he would wake up in the morning to find everything had been but a dream, for _that_ would have been the cruelest sort of fate there was.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Arthur greeted Merlin the next morning by busting into his room, half-dressed and still half-way in the dream world. He seemed to be in a sort of panic until his eyes settled on Merlin and the book he was reading in bed, not looking or feeling like he'd slept a wink.

Merlin knew, then, that Arthur had shared his fears the night before, but had given himself over to sleep anyway. He wondered how often Arthur might have dreamt of him, then, before they'd been reunited.

But then Arthur goaded him out of bed and was feeding him breakfast, and he decided that it didn't matter right now, not as much as other things did.

And it would not matter later on, either, not in the daylight hours.

Arthur took him shopping, and in the coming days caught him up on his life, and Merlin did the same, but some things never changed and the only time they would get lost in old memories and tying off loose ends and clearing up things that didn't seem to matter anymore, was late at night, when they camped out in each other's rooms, too scared to let the other out of their sight for such long, dark hours anymore.

Merlin was glad to find, during those small talks that made him feel nostalgic and melancholy, and welcome and at home all at once, that he was still Arthur. _Still Arthur._ Still the man Merlin loved more than anything else in the world.

_Still Arthur._

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	6. Chapter 6

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Arthur told Merlin, a week and a half after their reunion, that he _did_ have a job he needed to get back to. He was senior VP at his father's company and he couldn't play house and skip work forever—no matter how badly he wanted to.

"I can call in, though, for a few more days," He offered quickly when he broke the news over a breakfast of cold cereal and hot tea. "Make something up. Tell him I've come down with a virus or something."

But Merlin wouldn't hear of it. It was bad enough he'd put his life on hold for him for so many days now, he couldn't keep doing that, putting his responsibilities and duties on hold just for Merlin's sake. He needed to get back into whatever routine he'd had _before_ Merlin had come back into his life, he needed to go about his life as though everything was still the same as it always had been. He swore, however, that that would be impossible—Merlin changed _everything_, he insisted.

"I can manage myself for a few hours, Arthur." He insisted when the topic shifted to whether he should even leave Merlin alone all day or not.

"Do you know enough about modern technology not to burn the house down, though?" Arthur teased, because _really_, how long had he been living as a crazy old recluse again?

"Think I can manage that, too. Now go to work, Arthur. I'll be _fine_."

"I think I'll call a few times to check in on you. You _do_ know how to use a phone, don't you?"

"Haha—get out." Merlin shooed him off to work then, locked the door firmly behind him, and reveled, momentarily, at the fresh memory of Arthur in that suit that made him look just as much the king he would always be to Merlin.

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	7. Chapter 7

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Left alone in a house that was filled to the brim with Arthur's very being, Merlin laid down on the couch, stretching his long legs out and settling in. He reveled in Arthur's presence, yes, and loved him more than anything else, but the last week of his life had been _exhausting_. He decided he would take a nap and then maybe straighten up a bit, and, if he had time, put together a nice dinner for him and Arthur.

He awoke, however, some time later, to Arthur crouched down in front of him, voice soft with concern and wonder as he urged him awake. He blinked, focusing his vision on the face in front of him that made his heart do funny things in his half-asleep state.

Arthur smiled at him, loving and beautiful, relief written between his worries.

"Have you been sleeping all day?" He asked.

"That depends—what time is it?"

"Sevenish."

"Then yes, I've been sleeping all day."

Arthur's laugh was low and rumbling as he stood up and gestured for Merlin to do the same. He swung off the couch and stood up, wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and let Arthur lead him to the kitchen to feed him.

"You must be starving." He lamented, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, looking a bit sexier in that moment than Merlin remembered him to be just that morning.

Merlin took a seat at Arthur's island counter and watched him flutter about the room for a few minutes, throwing together a meal for the two of them as he prattled on about calling numerous times and getting nothing but the voice-mail. He almost admitted that he had been worried, but covered it up in the way he always had by saying he'd cancelled drinks with some of his buddies just to make sure Merlin really _hadn't _burned the house down being his usual clumsy self.

And really, Merlin didn't know why he bothered lying to him about it, but he decided that he didn't _care_, because both of them knew the truths from the lies now and, as long as he could read between the lines, it really didn't matter.

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	8. Chapter 8

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Arthur sat two plates down on the counter not too long later, followed by the silverware and two beers, one for himself and one for Merlin. He gave Merlin a teasing sort of grin as he opened them, pushed Merlin's over to him, perhaps remembering that he had always been piss poor at holding his alcohol and banking on the fact that some things, no matter how much time has gone by, never change.

Merlin shook his head in good humor and drank the beer anyway, a light fuzzy sort of feeling flowing through him by the time he had only finished the one. But, he wouldn't quite give Arthur the satisfaction of letting on to that.

As they ate, Arthur told him about work, about his day, asking Merlin's opinion and advice every few minutes on the odd subject he thought he might have an opinion _on_. Merlin was more than willing to comply, to give Arthur everything he could ever want. And the way Arthur's eyes lit up when he talked to Merlin was everything _he_ would ever want and more.

"Can I ask you something, Merlin?" Arthur asked once the meal was finished and he moved about to clear their plates.

"Hm?"

"Why is it," he paused, hands resting on his hips for a moment. "You've been here for over a week and I don't think I've seen you do magic once?"

Merlin shrugged. He had asked himself that very same question too many times in the short days they had been together again. He still had control of his magic, obviously, still did it when Arthur wasn't around or looking, but he could never seem to bring himself to do even the simplest of spells when Arthur was nearby. "I thought... That maybe you wouldn't want me to." He admitted, a touch of shame in his voice.

"_Merlin_." Arthur scolded, a small smile on his face. "I _told_ you: I don't want you to _ever_ change for anyone. I want you to _always_ be _you_. The you you've always been, the you I've always..." he shook his head, catching himself on a lump in his throat that Merlin was all too familiar with.

Merlin pushed back from the counter and had his arms around Arthur in half a second, holding him tight and close until Arthur's sniffling stopped and he brought a hand up to card through Merlin's hair, tucking himself against him quite comfortably for a long time until they pulled apart and Arthur pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

After that moment, Merlin was never shy about his magic around Arthur again.

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End file.
